


Help Could Come from an Unexpected Quarter

by Pearl09



Series: Ineffable One-Shots [16]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arson, Blood, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Knives, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Violence, bookstore owner! Aziraphale, mob! Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 11:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21243416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl09/pseuds/Pearl09
Summary: When Crowley tries to help out his mob by secretly going to the bookshop where other members have been disappearing, he certainly wasn't expecting to lose his usual silver-tongue in front of the owner. He certainly wasn't expecting to go back, either, or slowly develop a crush on him, or have his life turned upside down, running from the other members of the mob instead of helping them.





	Help Could Come from an Unexpected Quarter

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this art](https://10yrsyart.tumblr.com/post/188617409437/can-we-see-your-interpretation-of-a-human-au-of), and I hope I did it justice! Descriptions are ambiguous for Aziraphale and Crowley, so you can read it as either bookverse or TVverse! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Crowley has a nice life. He has a wonderful flat in a nice London neighborhood, he has a steady, high paying job, and he even has a few friends. 

Of course, his high paying job doesn’t come without its risks.

See, Crowley is a member of the local mob. He has been for as long as he can remember. His parents abandoned him when he was young, and he was lucky enough for Lucifer, the mob boss, to see him and decide to take him in. He refused to believe it was because he was small and could get into places most adults couldn’t, or that he had witnessed a murder orchestrated by the mob, so they needed to be sure he wouldn’t tell. No, he held onto the hope that Lucifer had seen the small child and wanted to take him under his wing, metaphorically speaking.

He didn’t have a life outside of the mob. He never learned how to do anything else. He knew how to take apart and clean a gun before he could tie his shoes. He mastered lockpicking before he mastered reading. But since he didn’t know any better, he thought this was normal.

Now that he’s a functioning adult, he has a list of responsibilities that are required of him from his job. As he never really outgrew his lankiness, they try and keep him away from anything that could turn violent, or was planned to turn violent. He was a burden in those sorts of situations, so they kept him mostly to collecting money from those businesses under their protection and, if they didn’t have the payment ready, issuing the consequences. It was usually something small and mundane – getting into the power grid and messing with their power at inconvenient times, or causing a roadblock so their deliveries don’t make it – little things that aren’t hard when you have connections.

There’s one thing that has been bothering him, though. Well, he’s seen how upset the other mob members are over it, at least, so he wants to see if he can help. The mob is trying to get their feet wet in Soho, a district ripe for the picking, hoping to make more money out of the shops there. After a few scouting groups went out to see where the best place to set up a mob hangout is, they determined the best piece of property is an old bookshop on one of the busy street corners. Lucifer sent a few members over with offers to buy the property off of the owner, determined to pay whatever the owner would want, believing that setting up in Soho would pay it back. They never came back. They searched everywhere for the members, but they couldn’t find anything. Lucifer, now mad, started sending people to try and take it with force. They disappeared too. No one who Lucifer sent to try and scare the bookshop owner has ever returned. Quite frankly, no one wanted to go over there, either, afraid of what might happen.

That’s why Crowley finds himself in Soho. He might get some extra points and be respected more if he can do this, especially when he wasn’t asked to. He can just imagine himself handing the deed to the building over to Lucifer later, a smug grin on his face as he receives praises and compliments for finally doing what the others couldn’t.

He pulls his hand from the tight pocket in his pants as he steps up to the door, pushing it open with the tinkling of a bell. Taking a deep breath and stepping inside, he mentally checks that his gun is still brushing his back from its hiding place, just in case it comes down to that. He really hopes it doesn’t. 

It’s oddly quiet inside compared to the busy street, seemingly empty of people. With no owner in sight, Crowley walks over to the closest bookshelf as the door clatters shut behind him. He starts to read over the titles, growing curious as all he seems to find are classics and other old books in no particular order. He was about to pull out a rather old copy of _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ when he is interrupted.

“Can I help you?”

Crowley wheels around quickly, retracting his hand and stuffing them back in his pockets. The sunglasses he’s wearing hides the surprise in his eyes as he tries to remain cool, but as soon as his eyes land on the bookshop owner, he falters, his heart beating faster. He was so sure it would be easy – he can charm the pants off of a monk if he tried. How hard would it be to get the man to hand over the deed to the building? Very hard, apparently. As he looks over the white-blonde curls and soft eyes hidden behind a pair of spectacles, he’s suddenly floundering like a fish in the middle of the Sahara. 

“I’m, uh, just – just browsing.”

“Mhmm. Seems a little silly to still be wearing your sunglasses then, doesn’t it?”

“Oh!” He had grown so used to wearing them around to help with his intimidation that he always forgets he’s wearing them. Carefully pulling them off, he slips them in his jacket pocket before saying, “I forgot about them.”

The owner purses his lips. “I’m sure you did. Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with then.”

Crowley gives a quick nod before turning back to the bookshelves, his shoulders hunched in as he tries to make himself smaller. If this was really the man responsible for making all the other mob members disappear, there must be something he’s hiding. He seems too soft to be able to do things like that, but then again, everyone is always hiding something. What he doesn’t understand is why he suddenly lost his ability to speak when he came over, and why his heart is still beating now that he’s disappeared further into the shop once more.

He’s about to give up and walk out, pretending the visit never happened, when his eyes land on a book of astronomy that seems out of place, as it looks fairly new. He slowly walks over to it, pulling his hands back out of his pockets to run a finger along the edge of the spine. When he opens it up, he finds it’s filled with breathtakingly clear photos of different stars, nebulas, and galaxies, with interesting facts intermixed in the glossy pages. 

“Have you found something that interests you?”

Crowley jumps again, not used to people sneaking up on him. He closes the book and picks it up, hugging it tightly to his chest before turning around and nodding.

The owner smiles. “Oh, I was hoping that book would find the right owner. It was donated to the shop recently, and it seemed so out of place with everything else, so I left it laying out. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like anyone else wanted it.”

Crowley fishes his wallet from out of his back pocket, saying, “How much is it?”

“Oh, no, you can have it.”

He pauses with his wallet halfway open, raising an eyebrow. “This is a bookshop, isn’t it? Where you’re supposed to sell books?”

“I did just say that one was donated. Please, just take it.”

Crowley shakes his head. “What does a typical book cost? Fifteen pounds or so?” He pulls the corresponding money out of his wallet and stretches his arm out to hand it over.

“I said–”

“Just – take the money! I can do without a few pounds. Take it, or – or I’ll have to take you to dinner or something.”

Crowley flushes as the shop owner laughs. “What a strange threat. I feel like I should know your name before you threaten me with dinner.”

“Crowley,” he gulps.

“It’s nice to meet you, Crowley. I’m Aziraphale.” He takes the money from Crowley’s outstretched hand and turns around to the register.

Before Crowley can make it any more awkward, he rushes out the door, leaning against the wall and taking calming breaths. Why, of all things, did he threaten him with dinner? Crowley’s job is to threaten people. He can do so much better than that. He also feels slightly disappointed that Aziraphale did end up taking the money, instead of going to dinner. They did only just meet; maybe he was going too fast? Why did he even want to take Aziraphale to dinner anyway? He was just trying to take the building from him; it wasn’t supposed to be anything else. He probably won’t ever see Aziraphale ever again, anyway, so why is he making such a fuss over it?

He fishes around in his pocket for his sunglasses before placing them on his face once more, collecting himself as he steps off into the street to take the book to his flat. His old Bentley is waiting for him, so he climbs in and starts the car, resolving to forget he had ever decided to stop at the bookstore in the first place.

~~~

He finds himself staring at the shop every time he drives past it in Soho. He definitely isn’t going out of his way every time he’s driving as he goes about his daily business, no – only sometimes. The other times his route just conveniently passes the shop.

Lucifer hasn’t sent any more men over there recently. Crowley’s scared to see it happen – he knows there will have to be another attempt in the near future, and that all the previous attempts have failed, but he can’t honestly imagine what Aziraphale does to them. He felt too soft and innocent to be able to make people disappear off the grid. He did, however, keep sneaking up on Crowley, so maybe his theory about Aziraphale hiding something isn't too far-fetched.

“Oi! Crowley!” Hastur calls, shaking him out of his daydream. “Get your head out of the clouds. This lock isn’t going to pick itself.”

“Right.” Crowley flexes his fingers to pull himself back into the present, pulling the lock pick out of his pocket and starting to work on the chain.

“Hurry up,” Ligur hisses, and Crowley rolls his eyes.

“This is why neither of you can pick locks. You don’t have the proper – patience!” He manages to get the lock open before his last word, stepping back from his work as Ligur pulls the chain off of the gate.

“Wait in the car,” Hastur says gruffly, pushing past Crowley to get inside the gate. “Be ready for us, just in case.”

“I will _not_ forgive you if you put bullet holes in my car,” he calls after them as they walk inside before turning back to the Bentley.

Once he slides into the front seat and starts the car, he turns on the stereo, his Best of Queen album playing through the speakers. After thumping the wheel to the beat of a few songs, he grows bored of waiting, so he fishes his phone out. Aziraphale is still fresh in his mind, so he decides to do some legal digging. The first thing in his google search is yelp reviews for the bookshop - A. Z. Fell’s. Seems like a strange name, Aziraphale Fell. Crowley means to search more about him, but his curiosity drags him into the reviews to see if he has acted like that to anyone else. The reviews all seem relatively normal for a bookshop – there are those who liked it, those who didn’t, and a mix of both, but nothing catching his eye. The biggest thing seems to be how old all the books are, and how fascinated the owner is by them.

A knock on the window startles him into dropping his phone into his lap, and the car door opens to let Ligur into the back and Hastur into the front.

“Everything went well, I presume?” Crowley says casually, throwing the stick into gear.

“We got the information we need,” Hastur answers, patting his slightly larger jacket. “Drop us off at HQ, and you can be on your way. And turn this blasted music off.”

With a frown, Crowley turns the stereo off before pulling out into the traffic.

~~~

The next time Crowley is in Soho, he doesn’t have the Bentley. He was busy with a few jobs near each other, so he opted to walk between them instead of driving to each one, so of course, he got himself stuck in a storm. 

He runs to the nearest doorframe to hide under from the freezing wind and rain a little until the storm passed, jacket pulled up awkwardly over his head to shield himself from the worst of it. Because he can’t properly see with the sunglasses and his jacket on top of his head, he doesn’t recognize the building he’s at until the door opens with a familiar jingle.

“You know, you can wait for the storm to pass inside instead of freezing out here,” Aziraphale says with a smile. 

“Oh,” Crowley says, turning around to face the doors. “I – wasn’t sure…”

Aziraphale steps back inside, holding the door open for Crowley. He walks in after carefully returning his jacket to its proper position, realizing just how cold he was after the door shuts behind him, enveloping him in the soft warmth of the bookshelf. He hugs his arms as he tries to conceal a shiver from Aziraphale, but it is a lot worse than he thought, so Aziraphale notices immediately. 

“Come on,” he says, gesturing with his head for Crowley to follow him. “There’s a couch and a blanket in the back room, and I started water for tea. Do you take sugar?”

“I don’t want to take your food,” he says. It’s really an excuse, because if any of the other members found out he was chatting with the person who was basically an enemy at this point…

“Nonsense, dear. It’s just tea. Go ahead and have a seat, and I’ll bring it right out.”

The sudden nickname sends warm, tingling feelings down Crowley’s chest and throughout his body. He does his best to ignore it to do as he was told, gently settling onto the old couch and pulling the tartan blanket draped across it towards him. He wraps up in it, covering as much of himself as he can while still making sure his hands are accessible for tea. Then he takes his sunglasses off to clean the rain from them, but, at the last minute, decides to leave them on the table instead of putting them on again.

When Aziraphale sets the tea tray down on the coffee table in front of Crowley and pours him a cup before settling into the plush chair next to the couch with his own cup, Crowley reaches out and spoons some sugar into it, saying, “You’re an angel, Aziraphale. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s nothing,” he says. “I don’t want to see anyone standing out in the cold when they are more than welcome to rest in here.”

They fall into a content silence as Crowley’s spoon clinks around in the cup, stirring the sugar into the tea. Only once he’s finished and reclined once more against the back of the couch, having taken a few sips of tea, does Aziraphale start the conversation up again.

“Last time you were here… you threatened me with dinner.”

Crowley takes another sip of tea before answering. “I panicked. I didn’t want to take the book for free.”

Aziraphale stares at his tea. “But why? Most people would have just taken it.”

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s best if we just forget that it had happened.”

“Oh,” he says, his shoulders sagging slightly as he conceals a frown. “Alright.”

“I mean, I’m not even supposed to be here,” he continues, ignoring Aziraphale’s downcast look. “If they ever found out –”

“Who’s they?”

Crowley pauses, realizing his mistake too late. “My – family.” They’re the closest thing he has, at least.

Aziraphale’s frown turns to a look of concern. “Your family would be mad if they found out you were here?”

“Furious,” he agrees. 

“Why?”

Wracking his brain for the best excuse he has, he says, “Not a safe part of town, I suppose. I can’t remember exactly.”

“Well, I guess they have a point,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair. “The mob’s getting more involved in this area. Sending threats over to local owners and whatnot. I suppose they’re trying to make a new headquarters and set up shop in here.”

Crowley leans in, a sudden interest in his voice. “And what do you think about that?”

Aziraphale scoffs. “Like my opinion is any different from anyone else not in the mob! They’re a bunch of bullies that live a life of crime, so instead of changing their ways and trying to be a better person, they continue to do illegal things and try to control the town! People don’t need protection; they need to get rid of the mob.”

He frowns and looks away, leaning back on the couch. “They can’t all be that bad,” he mutters into his cup, but somehow, Aziraphale still heard it.

“No, I suppose they aren’t," he sighs."Some of them truly don’t know any better; they don’t know anything else. They don’t see what the mob does to them, does to other people. Those people, if you can find them and press the right buttons – those are the people you can help to realize their mistakes and get them to leave the life of crime behind them.”

Crowley swirls the last dregs of tea around in his cup for a few seconds before setting it down and standing abruptly, letting the blanket fall back to the couch. He snatches his sunglasses back up and rests them on his nose before saying, “Thanks for the tea, angel, but I really should get going. Things to do and all.”

“Oh – okay,” Aziraphale says, setting his own cup down to follow Crowley to the door quickly. “Stay safe out there!”

The door closes behind Crowley without an answer. The storm isn’t completely gone yet, but he doesn’t care. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he walks away to find the Bentley again, the thoughts in his head spinning round and round in a hurricane of confusion.

~~~

“Crowley!” Hastur yells. “Pay attention!”

“Sorry,” he says, blinking himself back to the present. “What did you say?”

Hastur gets closer, a frown on his face. “You’ve been spacing out a lot recently. What’s wrong with you?”

“Headache,” he says, waving it off. “I’m fine. What did you say?”

“Beelzebub’s coming shortly. Something big is happening, and we need everyone, so look sharp.”

Crowley nods and adjusts his sunglasses, sprawling across a chair to make himself seem more calm and relaxed than he really is. In reality, his mind hasn’t stopped thinking about what Aziraphale said. He can’t be all that bad, can he? Does everyone really hate the mob that much?

Beelzebub strolls into the room with a packet in their hand and a scowl on their face. “Listen up, everyone!” They yell, dropping the packet on a nearby table. “Everyone’s assignments are in here, thanks to the information Hastur, Ligur, and Crowley gathered. I don’t feel like yelling it all at you. The job is tonight at ten. Don’t you dare be late.” They stroll back out, leaving the few members in the room to start up small conversations again. 

Crowley was the closest to the packet, so he gets to it first, pulling his paper out and leaving it to the others to find theirs. He slumps back down in the chair, reading it over. It seemed pretty standard, just some locks to pick – “Why are we breaking into an orphanage?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Ligur sneers. “Just focus on your assignment.”

With a surge of adrenaline, he stands and faces Ligur off. “My assignment is to pick the locks of the orphanage. I would like to know why.”

Ligur steps into his space, their chests nearly pressing together as they glare at each other. “You don’t need to know that information.”

“That’s enough, you two,” Hastur cuts in. “We don’t need anyone injured for tonight.” Ligur stares for a few more seconds before turning away, leaving Crowley to look to Hastur instead. He rolls his eyes and says, “Boss has an illegitimate child, and his mother just passed. They’re putting him in the system, but first, they’re going to run some blood tests tomorrow to see if he has any family left. If they find out, boss’s reputation is ruined. We need to stop that before it happens.”

Crowley looks horrified. “We’re going to kill a child?”

“Like I said,” Ligur cuts back in. “None of your concern.”

“It happens,” Hastur says. “Reputation is everything in this business. If a kid has to be killed, then, so be it.”

“You didn’t kill me,” he mutters, eyes darting around from face to face to see if anyone else is even the least bit upset over this.

“What was that?”

“You didn’t kill me!” He yells, not hiding his discomfort any longer. “You brought me in instead of killing me. Why do we have to kill him?”

“The police are all over Adam to put him in the system.” Hastur gives Crowley a disdainful look. “No one cared enough about you to keep track of you, or we would have killed you too.”

A sharp pain hits his chest and he takes a step back, suddenly quiet. That last thread of hope he had was cut prematurely, ruining the hopes and dreams he had grown up with. “I’m done,” he mutters, taking another step back.

“What was that?”

“I’m done!” He yells, barely holding back the tears in his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore.” He turns and walks out without another word, climbing into the Bentley and quickly driving back to his flat.

He had heard about his fair share of murders orchestrated by the mob and had turned a blind eye, but this was different. This was a child. An innocent, young boy, who would be snuffed out before he could even decide what he wanted to do with his life. He falls into his chair once he’s back in his flat, but after tapping his foot on the floor at an almost inhuman speed, he stands abruptly and starts pacing. They would have killed him if he was any more fortunate as a child. Now there was this other kid, who did have the chance to have a good life, who wasn’t abandoned by his mom but just ran into an unfortunate event – and they were going to kill him.

He keeps glancing at his phone as he paces back and forth across the room. One phone call. That’s all it would take. Just one call. He’d put himself in danger, but at least the kid, that Adam, would be safe. He stops pacing and picks up his phone, quickly dialing the right number.

~~~

News of an attempted child murder spread throughout the city the next day, racing through phones, and in newspapers, and through the air by word of mouth. Everyone had heard or read about it somewhere. Everyone but Crowley.

He destroyed his phone after he made the call so that no one can track him. Then he found a dusty old suitcase and tried to stuff as much as he could into it, making sure the astronomy book was in it as well. He needed to get out of the city as quickly as he could, to try and get away from everything.

“Hello, Crowley.”

Startled, he picks up the gun that he had lain on the table and wheels around with it pointed towards the voice – Hastur, leaning in the doorway.

Hastur laughs. “Like you’re going to use that old thing? I’ve worked with you, Crowley. I know how you are. You couldn’t shoot that thing to save your life. You _wouldn’t_ shoot that thing to save your life.”

“Oh yeah? Try me.” He clicks a bullet into the barrel, barely keeping his voice and hands from shaking.

“You know, for a professional lockpicker, your door was extremely easy to pick,” he says, stepping into the room and slowly closing the distance between them. “You called the cops on us. You warned them we were going to kill him.”

“So what if I did?”

“You’re a loose end, Crowley. You ruined Lucifer’s reputation. The news is all over the city. There’s a warrant out for his arrest now.” He shakes his head. “We can’t keep a loose end like you around. You should know better than anyone – no one just leaves the mob.” A flick of his eyes to something behind Crowley gives away the location of someone else.

As quick as he can, Crowley spins around, a sharp pain spreading in his lower abdomen before a loud bang echoes throughout the flat. Ligur drops to the ground, blood blossoming across his chest, and a bloody knife drops from his hand. Crowley looks in horror before remembering that Hastur is still there.

“You killed him!” Hastur yells, rushing to Ligur’s side.

Crowley’s breath grows faster. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean…” he remembers why the two were there with a grimace as he clutches his side, his hand coming away wet with blood. He throws the gun at Hastur as a distraction before picking up the suitcase with his clean hand and holding his wound with the other, running out of the flat and down the stairs as fast as he can. When he reaches the street and runs over to the Bentley, he barely registers the concern from all the passerby near him.

“Oh my word, you’re covered in blood!”

“Do you need an ambulance?”

“Someone call the police!”

He pulls the door to the car open and throws the suitcase in the passenger seat, sliding in and speeding off as quickly as he can. Just as he thinks he might be in the clear, his heart finally starting to slow but his breathing still hastened, a car squeals out of an alley behind him, and he ducks as bullets start flying in his direction. He starts breathing faster as the mob car chases him relentlessly through the streets of London, with seemingly no escape in sight. His thoughts turn to Aziraphale as he tries to think of a way to escape and how he always makes mob members disappear. Either he’ll get lucky, and Aziraphale will make the other mob members disappear, or – well, at least if he disappears, he knows he did the right thing.

He turns sharply to head towards Soho, but even squeezing through other cars at breakneck speed doesn’t quite get him there. One of the back tires pops suddenly, caught in the crosshairs of the bullets. Crowley loses control of the car, so in a split-second decision, he grabs the suitcase and opens the car door, jumping out and rolling to make it hurt less.

Crowley hears the car flipping and crashing behind him, but he doesn’t have a chance to be upset, or even look back. His hand and knees are scraped, and his sunglasses have fallen off, but he still gets up anyway, dragging his suitcase along with him to run into the nearest alley. They would have to chase him on foot back here, so he might just make it in time –

The bookshop looms into view across the street as he exits one of the alleys, and as he runs over, he is terrified of the sight of a closed sign on the door. He runs over anyway, knocking frantically on the door and is glad there seems to be no people around right now to question the blood all over him. 

“We’re closed!” Aziraphale yells, and Crowley feels relief to know he’s still in.

“Aziraphale, please!” He calls through the door. “I – I need an angel right now!”

Crowley glances behind him before he hears the door lock open, and he barely lets Aziraphale open the door before he rushes inside. He drops his suitcase and holds his hand to his side as he holds his wound, his chest growing tight and his breath growing ragged as he backs himself against a bookshelf.

Aziraphale carefully locks the door once more before turning to Crowley. “Oh, dear, you’re covered in blood.”

“You seem strangely calm about that,” he attempts to joke, swallowing thickly. He looks down at himself. “It’s – It’s not all mine.”

With pursed lips, Aziraphale takes the few steps to Crowley, ghosting his hands over him as he tries to access Crowley’s wounds. A sharp pounding at the door causes Crowley to gasp, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. They found him. They’re coming. They’re going to kill him.

Aziraphale calls out sharply, “We’re closed!” The pounding continues.

“They’re after me,” Crowley says, trying to grab Aziraphale. “Get out of here. Save yourself. There’s no stopping them.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale comforts firmly. “Go hide in the back; I’ll be there shortly.”

“But–”

He pushes Crowley’s suitcase into his arms. “_Go._”

Crowley stumbles into the backroom, dropping his suitcase before he falls onto the couch. He tries to get his breathing under control as he listens to the door opening and the hushed conversation, but the pain in his chest won’t allow it. For all he knows, they might kill Aziraphale while he’s back here. They did just want to kill a child, what's another adult added to the list? Even worse, he could have misjudged Aziraphale, and he’s going to turn Crowley in. Trembles wrack his body as his mind runs through every possibility that could be happening, each one worse than the last. He waits with bated breath when he hears the door close, waiting for his doom. What he wasn’t expecting to show up in the doorway was Aziraphale, alone, with a heavy-duty first aid kit and a glass of water. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, concerned. “You’re okay now. They’re gone. You’re safe here. Please breathe.”

He exhales shakily, trying to curl up in on himself as he starts to cry into the couch cushion. “Why… why didn’t you turn me in?”

“Shh,” Aziraphale soothes, kneeling on the floor next to him. “I’m not a monster. Clearly, you’ve done something they didn’t like.” There’s a twinkle in his eye when he says, “Can I assume you were the anonymous tip that stopped that murder last night?”

He nods. 

“Breathe, dear. I’m right here.” He hands Crowley the cup of water, urging him to drink some of it.

The pain in his chest starts to ebb away as he finally starts to calm down, but the tears won’t stop. He cries silently to himself as Aziraphale uses a warm cloth and gentle motions to clean the blood from Crowley’s face.

“Can you take your shirt off for me? You’ll feel better without that mess of a shirt on, and then I can properly address your wound.”

He nods before attempting to sit, fumbling with the buttons and his shaky hands. Aziraphale gently pushes his hands out of the way, undoing the buttons for him. Crowley then pulls his arms from the shirt and lets Aziraphale take it, shivering as the air hits his bare skin. 

“It’s a clean, shallow cut,” Aziraphale says as he starts to clean it, pulling away every time Crowley winces. “Should make for an easy heal, luckily. Might get away with a handful of butterfly bandages before I wrap the whole thing.”

“Why are you doing this?” Crowley sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“What, did you expect me to let you bleed out?”

He makes a non-committal sound in his throat. “You hardly know me.”

“And yet you still came to me when the mob was chasing you.” Aziraphale looks up at him, concern laced across his face. “Don’t tell me they’re the family you were mentioning the last time you were over.”

“I don’t have anyone else,” he answers, throat hoarse. He takes another drink from the glass before wiping at his eyes, wincing as Aziraphale starts to bandage the wound. In a shaky voice, he whispers, “What are you going to do to me?”

“What am I going to do? Dear, I think you’re in shock. No one here is going to harm you.”

“Nonono,” he starts, shaking his head. Aziraphale fastens the last of the bandage before Crowley continues, giving him his undivided attention. “All – Everyone Lucifer has sent over here has disappeared. I didn’t tell you before, but – now it’s pretty obvious.” Fresh tears spill out of his vulnerable eyes, refusing to look at Aziraphale. “I don’t want to be in the mob anymore. I – I can’t, can’t, not when they were going to – going to – going to kill a child! I promise I’m not – I’m not that bad!” He covers his face with his hands. “I don’t want to die.”

The couch next to him shifts and a warm arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him close. “I don’t know what’s gotten into your head, but I would never harm you. I would never harm anyone who comes in here unless they were violent.”

“Then where – where – where did the other members go?”

Aziraphale sighs, and Crowley can feel the movement of his chest rising and falling again. He starts to try and match that movement with his own chest, the panic finally starting to subside. “Let me guess – you were recruited too young to know any better, abandoned by any other family. They brainwashed you into thinking everything they were doing was right, and it was only after our last conversation that you realized, maybe something wasn’t right. Then, you found out they were going to kill a child, left, ratted on them, and they came after you. And I assume you killed in self-defense.”

“I can’t let them kill children,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I didn’t know.” He then looks up at Aziraphale, a small, scared expression on his face. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t the first time you were here,” he starts with a small chuckle. “You were a good actor. But the way you reacted at our last meeting… I had my suspicions. None of those mob members have disappeared violently. I sat them down for tea, talked them through finding the error in their ways, offered the bookshop as a safe space as they realized they wanted out, and helped them change their identities. I’m sure they’re all living perfectly wonderful lives now.”

“You can do that?” He suddenly looks hopeful again.

“If you want.” He removes his arm from Crowley and stands, leaving Crowley to feel the absence of his warmth. He disappears for a few seconds before walking back in with a large wool sweater, offering it to Crowley. “You look cold.”

Crowley gratefully accepts after a brief hesitation, pulling it over his head. He’s swimming in it – his hands don’t even stick out of the sleeves – but it’s soft, warm, and smells strongly of Aziraphale, so he snuggles into it.

“I have contacts if you do want to change your identity,” Aziraphale starts again. “But the decision is entirely up to you.”

He frowns at that, shaking his head. “I don’t want to do anything illegal anymore.”

Aziraphale chuckles, and at Crowley’s confused look, he reassures, “It’s not illegal. Quite the opposite, rather. I can contact Gabriel, and we can work something out.”

“Gabriel…” Crowley repeats, the name familiar in his mouth. “Wait, like – Police Chief Gabriel?!”

“I used to be a detective,” Aziraphale answers. “I quit after I realized how corrupted the others are and started working here instead, but they still get information from me every now and then in the form of ex-mob members, so they still begrudgingly keep contact.”

“Information for an identity change,” Crowley nods. Now everything is starting to make sense. “Am I allowed to think about it?”

Aziraphale nods. “And you’re welcome to stay here until you decide. There’s a bed in the flat upstairs.”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t take your bed from you. The couch is perfectly fine with me.”

He nods once more. “Would you like some biscuits? I think some food might help you right now.”

“Sure.” Aziraphale walks out of the room, and Crowley burrows further into the couch, running everything over in his head. He lets his eyes slip closed as he waits for Aziraphale, taking deep breaths to try and get rid of the stress of the day. 

~~~

Crowley is disoriented when he wakes up, having meant only to close his eyes for a few seconds. Now, the tartan blanket is draped over him, and a pillow is stuffed under his head. Blinking the sleep from his eyes and shifting carefully into a sitting position, he notices a glass of water, a plate of biscuits, a bottle of pills, and a small card on the table in front of him.

Picking up the card, it reads, _Take two of the pills when you wake. Once you start to lose the drowsiness, that wound on your side is going to hurt. And don’t take them on an empty stomach. – Aziraphale_

Crowley can already feel the slight discomfort around the wound, and he lets out a sharp hiss of discomfort when he tries to press it. Pushing the large sleeves up and popping the bottle open, he takes two pills as he was told, washing them down with some of the water before he picks up a biscuit and starts to nibble on it.

The sound of a page turning catches his attention, looking quickly to the source of the noise. Aziraphale sits at a desk in the next room; a book open in front of him and his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. A soft lamp illuminates the book for him, and Crowley watches him for a few minutes as he eats.

“You know, you could say something if you have questions.”

Crowley jumps slightly, and he catches the corner of a sly grin on Aziraphale’s face. “I don’t like detectives,” he mutters. 

Aziraphale puts a bookmark down to mark his page before standing and walking into the room with Crowley, sitting down in his chair. “What do you want to ask?”

“Were you close to the police, even if they were corrupt?”

He nods with a sad look in his eyes. “I considered some of them family. And then I found out a good portion of the force was taking bribes and other things. I tried to ignore it, at first. But the more I ignored it, the more I saw it. So, I quit. And when I quit, I went and ratted them out. Still one of the hardest things I ever did. The investigations cut probably half of the force out, but still, they didn't find everyone.”

Crowley considers this. “What was it like, to change your whole career?”

“I got lucky,” he admits. “The owner was trying to sell the shop, so I managed to take it. I've always loved books, and to be surrounded by all these old tomes... I never thought the mob would want it, though, so I guess I never really got out of the force.” He leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Perhaps leaving the city entirely would be the best option. Get a small cottage, with a nice office for some books. Though, it might be awfully lonely.” He glances over at Crowley, but he’s looking at the floor. “How about I get us some dinner? You must be starving.”

Crowley nods without looking up, letting Aziraphale leave the room before doing anything else. He pulls his suitcase close, opening it to see what few items he managed to bring with him. He can never go back to his flat now.

The book of astronomy peeks out from under a jacket, so Crowley pulls it out and sets it in his lap, opening the pages and smiling softly as he looks at all the pictures. He’s always had a strange fascination with the stars, even if they’re hard to see in London. Now that he thinks about it, moving out to the country does sound nice. He could find a small job and spend his nights stargazing. But Aziraphale was right – it sounds terribly lonely. He looks up to the last spot he saw Aziraphale, only to see he’s appeared again, smiling gently with two steaming plates of pasta. Crowley’s heart does a backflip, and he realizes he might have a problem.

“What do you think about Anthony?” he manages, carefully closing the book and setting it to the side as Aziraphale brings the plates over.

“Anthony is a wonderful name,” he says, smile growing impossibly wider.

They eat in comfortable silence, but the content feeling Crowley has quickly turns to a pit of worry in his stomach. He was thinking about trying to find the courage to see if Aziraphale would want to move with him out to the country, so they could both leave and not be lonely, but then he realized that being near anyone might put them at risk.

“I don’t know that a name change will help,” he says glumly, pushing the last of his pasta around his plate.

“Why?”

“Lucifer was the one to bring me in. Unless I get a complete makeover too, he might recognize me. And - and I don’t know that I could do that.” He lets his head hit the back of the couch with a sigh. “I don’t know if even going out to the country would save me from him when I ruined his reputation.”

Aziraphale hums thoughtfully. “I might have an idea on how to work around it, if you can give the police as much information as you can. And if you trust me.”

Crowley lifts his head and looks over to him. “Of course I do.”

“I’ll set up a call for tomorrow then – you can’t leave if you might be spotted.”

“Okay.”

~~~

The call is a lot more intense than Crowley was expecting. They asked him lots of taxing questions, had him repeat his answers multiple times, and wanted details on the past few days to clear him on the murder. Aziraphale sat with him the entire time, but his brain short-circuited for a bit when Aziraphale casually took his hand and squeezed his reassurance into it, then rubbing comforting circles on it for the rest of the time.

When Crowley is finally able to hang up, he exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples with the hand not occupied by Aziraphale. 

“You did the right thing,” Aziraphale reassures, squeezing his hand one last time before letting go.

“Now it’s just up to you,” he says with an attempt at a smile.

“It might take me a few days, but I think you gave them enough information to work it out right.”

“I sure hope so.” Crowley shakes his head and runs his hand down his face. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Of course. How about dinner? We’ve been sitting here for so long now, so I’m famished. Care to join me?”

Laughing, he says, “Sure. Seems kind of funny, huh? I threaten you with dinner the first time I’m here, and now you’re asking me to dinner.”

“Well, it would be wrong of me to not offer while you’re staying here. You are my guest, after all.”

Crowley rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Right.” He fiddles with the end of his sleeve. “Do you think everything will turn out alright?”

Aziraphale places his hand on Crowley’s knee, sending a spark of warmth through him. “It will. I promise. And I don’t break my promises.”

He nods, exhaling slowly. He then stands, and Aziraphale’s hand falls off of his knee. “How about that food?”

~~~

Aziraphale comes back into the bookstore with a bag in hand, closing and locking the door behind him once again. Crowley is settled in his usual spot on the couch, having picked the astronomy book up again from where he left off.

“Oh, dear, you’ve been stuck inside for days,” Aziraphale frowns, setting the bag down by the bookshelves.

“I can’t leave, or they might find me,” he mutters, turning the page and not looking up.

Aziraphale hums in thought before an idea crosses his mind and face. “We can dress you up! Disguise you. It’s cold out there, so a few layers wouldn’t be suspicious at all! Wrap a scarf around your neck… and a hat would hide your hair! I think I have those things lying about.”

“Angel–” but Aziraphale’s already hurried away. He sighs and closes the book again before standing, double-checking the bandages he just changed to make sure they won’t fall.

Aziraphale comes back and helps Crowley into the outfit, making sure no one would be able to recognize him if they saw him pass on the street.

“There!” he says, stepping back and admiring his work. 

Crowley tries to look up at the pom-pom on the top of the hat, saying, “Don’t you think this is rather much?”

“Nope! Now, you’re all good to go! Go ahead and stretch your legs a bit, dear. You need it.”

He frowns. “You’re not coming?”

“I only just got back.” He shakes his head. “I have important things to do regarding making sure you can get away from this life. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Crowley nods, slightly disappointed. “Right. Stretch my legs, go for a walk. I’ll try and avoid going near any of the gang’s hangouts too.”

“Good idea. Take care, dear!”

Crowley unlocks the door so he can leave, waiting to hear it thud closed behind him before taking a deep breath and stepping onto the sidewalk. The fresh air is nice after being surrounded by old books for so long, and it does feel nice to walk for more than a few feet to the bathroom and back.

He weaves his way through Soho as he lets his thoughts wander. Aziraphale seems to be close to solving Crowley’s problem. On the one hand, it’s great news – Crowley can leave, living in peace while knowing Lucifer will never come after him again. On the other… it’s been nice, having someone else around. Someone else he can trust, and who seems to actually care for his wellbeing. Living with Aziraphale these past few days has been lovely – will this solution let him stay? Would Aziraphale even let him stay, or was this really only temporary? He thinks that living on his own after this is the worst thing he could ever imagine. 

He’s about to find out that his imagination doesn’t even begin to compare with reality.

When he finally turns his path back around to get back to the bookshop, he continues to ponder the situation, ignoring the flashing lights and loud sirens of the firetruck speeding past. And the next one. And the two police cars a few minutes later. And the ambulance.

They remind him of his days in the Bentley, speeding through the streets of London without a care in the world. How much has changed since then, when he looks back on it. All it took was a matter of days to turn his world upside down, and now, he was so close to a way out. So why was he still so hesitant about it? He doesn’t want to leave Aziraphale.

A black plume of smoke rises in the air a few blocks ahead of Crowley, confusion etching his face. If he counts blocks correctly, then that should be right around… the bookshop. His feet are running before his brain can catch up, hoping he misjudged, or miscounted, or mis-_something_ as the sound of sirens and the smell of fire hits him –

He stops short as he turns the corner, all the breath leaving him suddenly as if he was punched in the gut. And, metaphorically, that’s what it feels like. The bookshop is aflame, large tendrils of fire shooting out from the windows on both floors. Panic rises in his chest as he starts to move again. He should have known better than to stay in one place. Of course Lucifer would find him. Of course he wouldn’t care about any other casualties or property damage. He probably sent Hastur to do it – he loves arson.

As he runs closer to the shop, all thoughts other than Aziraphale leave his mind. He was in the building when he left, and, scanning the people scattered that aren’t in some kind of uniform, he can’t find the curly blonde hair that belongs to him. 

Crowley tries to run into the burning shop – emphasis on tries. “Aziraphale!” he calls out in a panic once he’s close enough, ready to burst through the flaming door to go and find him. A pair of strong arms catch his and pull him back, but he can hardly hear what they’re saying as he struggles against them desperately. “Aziraphale!” he calls once more, panicked, and the tears start to fall. It was all his fault. He put Aziraphale in danger by staying with him, even if it was some of the best days of his life. And now he was paying the price. The rest of his belongings are gone. The books are gone. The bookshop is a lost cause. Aziraphale –

“Aziraphale,” he blubbers as the officer pulls him back to the cars. He glances up and sees the stern face of Chief Gabriel, the one holding him back. “Please,” he begs. “Please, Gabriel, it’s my fault, you need to let me go back, I need to save him–” His struggling grows weaker as his crying grows stronger, until Gabriel can restrain him with one hand as his other goes to pull his radio out.

Reduced to incoherent babbling through his tears, Crowley looks up with confusion as he listens to Gabriel speak into the radio. “Witnesses say two people are still trapped in the building: both adult males, one being the owner and the other a friend who was staying over. We’re trying to get in now, but I’m afraid it might be too late. The building seems ready to collapse.”

“No, no, only Aziraphale is in there, I’m right here,” he protests, trying to push out of Gabriel’s grip. “I’m the - I’m the friend. It was just him in there; I was - I was out.”

“Shut up,” Gabriel threatens with a glare.

“But - but Aziraphale is still in there! And I’m not!”

He turns to a nearby officer. “Take him over to the ambulance, will you? I think he’s in shock.”

“Yes, sir.”

Crowley is passed off to the new officer, still protesting. “I don’t need help; I need - I need Aziraphale! It’s my fault! Hastur probably set the fire!”

“It’s okay,” the officer tries to comfort. “Everything will be okay soon.”

“I should have known, I - I should have warned him! It won’t be okay!”

The doors to the ambulance are thrown open, and the officer attempts to help him up into it, but ultimately, it’s the soft, warm hands pulling him into the back that do the most work, calming down his protests as Aziraphale helps him up. He stands there in stunned silence as the officer closes the doors again and Aziraphale pulls a shock blanket out.

“I’m sorry to have scared you like this, dear,” he starts, unfolding the blanket and draping it around Crowley’s shoulders. “Had I known you would have had such a strong reaction, I might have clued you in on what was happening, but I thought it best to keep it a secret. But, didn't I tell you I'd still be here when you returned?”

Crowley blinks slowly, trying to process what is happening. “But - You’re safe? Gabriel - Gabriel said you were still in the building! Gabriel said we were both still in the building! Your bookshop is on fire, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault-”

“He better have. That was the plan, after all.”

“You mean - you mean this wasn’t Hastur?” It’s only now that he notices his suitcase sitting in the vehicle with them, along with another, larger but equally old looking.

“I figured, if I told you the plan, you wouldn’t let me go through with it,” Aziraphale starts to explain, sitting down and patting the hard surface next to him for Crowley to join him. Once Crowley is settled in and paying attention, he resumes. “Hastur didn’t start the fire. I did.”

“But-”

He shushes Crowley. “Let me finish, dear. You had enough information to hand over; I was able to convince Gabriel to do more than just an identity change so that you can get away. The bookshop goes up in flames; then, the mob can’t get it. Then, writing in the official documents that, unfortunately, two people were trapped inside and died before they could be rescued... “ He picks up two files on the bench next to him and hands one over to Crowley. “Then we legally fake our deaths, and no one tries to hunt us down anymore.”

Crowley takes the file and opens it, finding the paperwork and everything else needed to change his identity. He picks up the birth certificate reading _Anthony J. Crowley_ before looking up to Aziraphale in surprise and wonder.

“I hope the name is okay. I found you didn’t really have much, identification wise, so if you’re going to move-”

“Why?” Crowley cuts him off. “Why did you go through all this trouble for - for me? Why did you not only fake my death, but yours too? I thought your books were important.”

Pink blossoms high on Aziraphale’s cheeks as he looks away. “I packed my favorites away here. Books can be replaced, but people can’t. And, well, I figured, if we both had dreams about moving out to the country, and it does seem awfully lonely-”

Crowley cuts him off again by pressing their lips together harshly, the kiss wet from his earlier tears. Almost as soon as he starts it, however, he pulls back abruptly, shock and concern written on his face. “I’m sorry-”

Aziraphale grabs his collar with both hands and pulls him back in, pushing an aggressive kiss back onto Crowley until he melts out of the initial shock of it. “Stop apologizing,” he says when he finally pulls away, and Crowley can’t help the smile from spreading across his face.

~~~

Crowley places the last book into the shelf they had built. It was his astronomy book - the one that started it all. He smiles fondly at it for a few seconds before Aziraphale startles him out of his head. 

“Crowley, dear, Adam and his parents will be over later today around teatime, and he’s bringing his friends too, and I can’t figure out this lawnmower!”

He chuckles before walking out of the small cottage into the garden. Aziraphale is bent over the lawnmower, trying to figure it out.

“How about _I_ take care of the garden, angel. There are plenty of other things you can do if you want.”

Aziraphale stands and wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I guess that might be better.” As Crowley steps up to the lawnmower, he says, “I got a call from the library. You’re now looking at the new head librarian.”

The smile on his face grows. “That’s fantastic! I knew you would.” He pecks Aziraphale on the cheek. “I still haven’t been able to find anything.”

Aziraphale smiles mischievously. “You know, we could always use a librarian who knows and loves astronomy.”

“I’ll think about it.” He starts the lawnmower, and Aziraphale disappears inside. The previous owners didn’t do a very good job at the upkeep of the garden, which Crowley notes as he cuts the grass. Once he has stowed away the mower once more, he kneels in front of the rosebushes and pushes his sleeves to his elbows, pulling up the weeds hiding around it. He loses track of time as he continues through the rest of the flowerbeds, but the sudden thud of someone running does draw his attention.

Crowley barely turns around before he’s knocked over in a hug, and he feels three more small bodies pile on top of him.

Laughing, he says, “Hey, guys. I didn’t hear you come in!”

“Mr. Aziraphale said you had been in the garden all afternoon, and that we needed to rescue you from doing _work_,” Adam says, the one directly on top of Crowley.

“I consider myself saved,” he says, sitting up with a drawn-out groan as the kids fall off of him, giggling. He chuckles with them before looking up at the house, catching Aziraphale’s fond smile through the window.

“Come on,” he says, ruffling the first two heads he can find. “Let’s go eat!”

The kids clamber up and run back to the house with Crowley close behind, pulling his sleeves back down. When he enters the kitchen, he stops short at the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Young standing with Adam between them, who is awkwardly holding a box over half of his height. They’re all smiling at him, and a glance to Aziraphale shows that he knew this was happening.

“What’s this?”

“We wanted to thank you,” Mrs. Young starts. “If it weren’t for you, Adam would be…”

“We wouldn’t have been able to adopt Adam,” Mr. Young takes over. “We asked what things you might like and brought you a gift.”

Crowley glares at Aziraphale. “He better have said nothing, then, because I don’t need a gift. It was just – the right thing to do.”

“Mr. Aziraphale said you’d say that,” Adam says, stepping forward with the box. “That’s why I have the box, ‘cause you can’t say no to me.” He holds it out the best he can.

Crowley scowls but begrudgingly accepts it, muttering under his breath about being exploited. Everyone watches expectantly as he tears the paper away, staring in awe at what’s on the box. “This is – this is too much.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Young says. “You don’t know how much what you did means to us.”

He gently runs his hand over the telescope on the front of the box, mesmerized by it. Aziraphale clears his throat to gain everyone’s attention, clasping his hands together. “I think it’s about time we get to eating.”

Aziraphale made enough pasta to feed everyone while Crowley had been gardening, and Mrs. Young brought a cake she had made. It was a nice meal full of engaging conversations and giggling children. For only the second time meeting all of the kids, and the first time meeting Mr. and Mrs. Young, everything ran smoothly, and it soon felt like they had known each other for years. Once the last of the cake was finished off, Adam shot up, running over to Crowley and tugging on his sleeve.

“Come on, let’s set up your telescope!”

He lets the kids drag him and the telescope out, the other adults following soon after with cups of tea as the kids stand around him excitedly, watching him put the telescope together.

“Look, it’s the North Star!” Wensleydale points out.

“Actually, it’s not,” Crowley explains. “The North Star isn’t the brightest one, Sirius is.” He tightens the telescope stand before setting it down and pointing up at the sky. “But if you look up over here, you can see the three stars in a line there. That’s Orion’s belt, and it’s how you can find his constellation! Then, over there is Taurus, the bull he’s hunting with the help of his two dogs, Canis Major and Canis Minor.”

“Are there pirates in space?” Adam asks. “Or dinosaurs? Or detectives?”

“There might be. I guess we’ll never know. But, what I can show you, if I can find it, is Mars!” He looks through the telescope, twisting nobs and dials as he moves it around, and the kids stand around, fiddling with their jackets. “Aha!” He finally declares. “Just let me get the bugger into focus…” He steps back, and the kids all swarm the telescope, pushing each other out of the way and arguing with each other over it. Crowley chuckles as they finally decide on an order to look through the telescope before he glances over to the others. “Care to jump in line, angel?”

With a smile, Aziraphale leaves Mr. and Mrs. Young near the house, coming over to stand next to Crowley and catching his hand with his. “It seems like I might have to fight Brian for it,” he laughs.

“As long as it’s not Pepper, you’ll be fine,” Crowley jokes. 

Aziraphale squeezes Crowley’s hand, muttering, “I’m glad you found me.”

“I’m glad you let me,” he mutters back, leaning in to steal a kiss.

They pull apart with a chuckle when the kids start protesting it, making noises in their disgust. Aziraphale then peaks through the telescope to see what Crowley had found before Crowley commandeers it again to search for something else.

Crowley has a nice life. He shares a cottage with the love of his life in the South Downs, even if he is between jobs at the moment, and he even has real friends now, close enough to call them family. As they watch a shooting star race across the sky and Aziraphale's head gently rests on Crowley's shoulder, he decides everything is finally going right. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over here on [tumblr](https://pearlll09.tumblr.com) if you want to hang!


End file.
